The Attack of the Football Fanatics

I had several dreams tonight. All of them worthy of a blog entry. I only remember one, once I had woken up in the morning and gone back to sleep.

I find myself in a shopping centre in Cartago, Costa Rica (it looks like my brain is slowly making the migration). I am with several of my aunts and cousins, looking for my cousin’s daughter’s ball which she has misplaced. I decide to drift around the shops looking for something interesting.

As I get towards the other end of the centre I hear an explosion, and then people screaming and saying that there’s been a chemical leak, so a section of the centre is closed to the public. I think it is the end I’m at, so i walk around trying to get to the other end, and see massive walls, barring my progress. I got the end wrong, it is the end I came from.

I start running towards the door, when I am tripped deliberately by a football fan sporting purple. He runs away, I follow for a bit and quickly realise it is a setup, there is a horde waiting and they want blood. I am really confused as I am wearing a Southampton shirt and not a local one. I walk backwards and jump over a fence.

The horde makes it to the fence, they are manic, psychotic wild eyes in their sockets, screaming for mayhem and trouble. I am find myself cornered with other individuals. I jump to a platform and hurry towards another exit, thinking I’ll make it out on foot. My half conscious brain evaluates the situation and realises there is no way we’ll survive on foot, so I re-write the dream and go to the car. Only I have not yet bought a car, so it quickly turns into my mother’s car, which is an SUV.

One of the fans clad in purple, who does not want trouble, guides me through a labyrinth through the bathrooms and the prostitutes towards the car.

I have to make it around the blue stadium to my aunt’s house. The road through the stadium is blocked, because of the football fans. I realise the horde has spotted my car and is making for it. I accelerate.

Two British radio presenters are following the action. At first they were there on the ground, but then the dream got re-written and they were through the phone, on video call.

I quickly drive past the Stadium road and up towards a hill. There are the ruins of a medieval town, and a Swiss looking scenery with Alps and Lakes. I quickly scramble my brain and re-write what I am looking at to make it Costa Rican.

I go north of the stadium, onto a dirt track, always accelerating. The road ends suddenly, so I veer to one side down another tarmac road. This one goes to close to the stadium. I see the horde in the distance, only now they are clad in red and black. I go north again.

Another dirt track. I am destroying the car’s suspension. Two more roads and I’ll be past the stadium and to my aunt’s house. We (suddenly there are people in the car with me) have to drive through a pill factory. The girl working there stops us and tells us to hide inside, we won’t make it she reckons.

We hide inside but my mum walks outside to see where the horde is, they spot us. They come to start a fight. I start fighting with all I’ve got, throwing punches left, right and centre. I am a big lad, I throw a good punch, people start falling to the ground, but we get word of an even bigger horde. No way out, no escape.

My brain quickly re-writes the dream. We are still in the car. We go past a destroyed dirt road and unto the intersection with a dirt track coming from the stadium. There is a steep hill coming towards the intersection.

The horde, now clad in red and yellow, is at the foot. Do I ram them? Or do I stop? I do not want to be responsible for the death of anyone, however justified it may be. I go slowly, the horde surrounds the car and starts the attack. The wing mirrors fall, the glass cracks. Hand are inside the car.

My leg muscles begin to cramp as they tense from the panic. My brain re-writes the dream. I ram them, I go through them at full throttle and they do not stand a chance, and a I make it past the security line from the riot police.

I wake up with a start. With a blazing headache and aching muscles. Very real, physical pain, from the stress and tension of the dream.

The Castle and the King

I wake up inside a medieval castle, yet with modern comforts. I look outside and I suddenly realise I am an important member of this society.

I walk down the stone steps into the courtyard,sun shining down upon me. I look around, and see towers and turrets everywhere. The courtyard is small, internal and private. I walk towards the western wing and into the room. I saw gold ingots lying on the ground and I decide to take them and store them somewhere hidden. Somehow I know they belong to me and they ought not be there.

I go behind some stairs, into a secret compartment, on the other side of an iron gate. I hide the treasure and walk outside. I see my mother discussing with my aunt. I keep walking and get to the car. An SUV, white. In the middle of the castle. I get in with my little brother and drive off into the ramp going out of the castle. We drive through a maze until we are finally on the open road heading towards the beach.

Inside the maze of tunnels we noticed two children, at the time I made nothing of it. However, once at the beach we reach a house, where a family is living. The two children are there. Their parents welcome us into their home. They make us as comfortable as possible and then walk us out to the car, with the waves crashing down upon the small overhang where it is parked.

The whole sequence makes no sense. What am I doing here? Why does everyone seem to know me? Why is there a castle, a road and a beach house?

As we drive back and approach the tunnels we get lost inside. Suddenly the roof is too small, the car won’t fit, will it? I inch the car forward very slowly, and it just about scraped through. We leave the car there, parked in the midst of the tunnels, and walk towards the castle. The two children are there again. I decide to follow them.

They are going deeper into the castle, until it is clear they are heading for the hidden gold. I stop them. They run away. I clamber above some table in a low-roofed chamber and reach the corridor that will take me to the gold. I take it in my hand and walk onto a balcony.

The whole town lies before me. People cheer me as I step out.

I am the King.

The School Reunion

I find myself on a film set. The famous blonde actress has to jump from the window, onto a beam and then run across onto the roof. The scene gets repeated several times. All around me, my old school classmates are there. We are altogether again, after so many years.

Then I find myself on the floor below from where she jumped, in a very squeezed room, where I cannot stand up, only crawl. She is there in bed, I go towards her. I hear a loud crash and a bang, and then we are running – enacting the rehearsal scene for real – and as I land on the roof I am being chased by the baddy. I fall all the way down to the street level, without breaking any bones, and run into a warehouse. The baddy follows me and starts shooting. I close my eyes.

I open my eyes, I am at the beach, in a restaurant on the sand. I slip into a hole in the sand with my cousin and two other people. The baddy comes rushing in. He does not recognise me and takes out his phone, looking for me. He takes out his gun and then aims it straight at my chest. He fires. I close my eyes.

I open my eyes and I am somewhere else. At a party. With all the people I had known at school. We are quietly reminiscing about days gone by. There are pictures going around, and I feel a certain joy in my heart. It appears to be a Christmas party, with the little children really enjoying themselves. The conversation moves to the very old video games, Nintendo (just Nintendo, as it was at that time) multi-player games. Someone then leads us into a room, in what looks like an abandoned military bunker, where all the Nintendos are connected via wires and it is set up for a massive multi-player shoot up game.

Then the baddy comes rushing in. I run. I go through a labyrinth of corridors, with him hot on my heels, shooting the whole time. I manage to get a gun and shoot back. I injure him. Then he flashes a wicked grin and shoots. Behind me. As I turn I see he has shot at a bomb. I run for dear life as the bomb explodes and sends me careening into the next room. Where another bomb awaits. As it starts to go off I run through a door, and I am back at the street the one I landed on after I fell down from the roof, exiting the warehouse. I look around and the crowded street, filled with filmmakers again, is a sitting target for all the bombs, so I warn them. Everyone starts running and there is a massive panic.

I cross the street and enter a different building. I am back in the bunker. I look around and the gun is aimed straight at my head.

I wake up. With a tight calf muscle and tired biceps. Feeling the fatigue of having run so much.

The Election

In a distant land, surrounded by ocean, there was to be an election for a new Leader. Naturally, it all happened on the sea surrounding the capital city. Lovely palm trees on the beach, with the blue-turquoise water lapping gently against the sand. But then, in the middle of the sea, three giant structures had been erected.

The first one, a cage. A cage of immense proportions. A massive net of steel, forming the shape of a sea creature. Inside, the poor human souls who were to be the sacrifice offered at the election. Sacrificed, as atonement to their crimes.

The second, a viewing platform for the Councillors and Statesmen. Ornate gold carvings on plush seats, full of blue-robed people. Waiting for the spectacle of the sacrifice.

I am on a boat which docks at the cage. The first prisoner is loaded unto the boat. A woman. Blonde hair, middle-aged. Terror in her face.

The boat speeds to the third structure. A massive cauldron, filled with wood chips, with a three apartment house at the top. We climb to the house, where we are greeted by the executioner, another woman in her mid-thirties. Our prisoner is taken to one of the three cells on the balcony. Another two arrive and fill the gaps.

I look in horror as I realise what is about to happen. The executioner laughs, cold and mirthless. Hollow eyes looking with glee at the three prisoners. He pulls a chord, and the fire spreads from the roof towards the woman who had come in my boat. She starts screaming, louder and louder as the flames envelop her. Then, the floor beneath her collapses and she falls into the cauldron. A human torch to light the ceremonial cauldron.

She writhes around, only lighting more and more wood chips until a veritable inferno extends itself towards heaven.

The Voice from Above

I find myself again in an old stone church. It is massive, with a large central dome and wings going out to each cardinal point. There must be ten thousand people inside. In one of the wings, where it half descends into a crypt, there are the tombs of the twelve Apostles and Jesus himself. It is very poorly lit, and some areas are bare, exposed rock. There are signs everywhere indicating not to touch and not to photograph.

As I walk around with Paula I see all the tourists ignoring the signs, touching and kissing the tombstones, taking selfies in front of them.

Suddenly, a thunderous voice is heard from above:

“Non-believers!” the voice roared.

At the same moment, a clap of thunder hits the giant glass dome of the church. The roof collapses. Shards of glass and stone rain down on the people. Screams fill the air as the terrified people run amok in a panic. Nobody is quite sure where the exit is, nobody is quite sure where the attack came from.

Most people are being targeted. The stones seem to have a specific direction, smashing people’s heads as the flee.

I hold Paula close and stand still. I then hear a voice inside of me. Calm yet commanding. “Come to me, walk towards the hill and you will be safe.”

I take Paula’s hand and calmly walk amidst the death and destruction. There are dead bodies everywhere. Terror etched in their faces. I see the exit, at the far end of the Church. It now resembles a war zone. The Church itself has collapsed. I can see the sky. It is dark with flashes of orange, as if lit by fire.

As we make our way towards the exit, slowly walking past the dead and dying people, the stone missiles smash the ground around us. We reach the exit and walk outside. Outside, simply because we are on the other side of the rubble.

I see the grassy hill and breathe in. Nearly there. I feel no fear, as the Voice sustains me from the inside. When we reach the hill, the meteor shower starts. The skies are waging war on the Earth.

We lay ourselves on the ground and I place myself on top of Paula to protect her.

The world around us ceases to exist.

Fire at the Memorial

I am at an Italian’s party, with his sister. The father is refusing to serve any more alcohol because the people are getting rather drunk. Morning arrives and the father discovers me with the woman. He is rather upset. I make a run for it towards the van that is waiting on the road. We quickly load up and drive.

We get to Muhammad Ali’s memorial park. It is a mixture of concrete and plants. Suddenly I see a fire start. It begins to spread and consumes most of the park. My uncle quickly sets off the sprinklers on one side, to prevent the fire from spreading there.

I am now in a flat above the park. A mixture of smoke and water vapour is coming in through the vents. A group of local police is there, annoyed at the sprinklers. They had set fire to the Memorial. As I realise this, I discreetly call other authorities to request help.

The arsonists find out. Guns come out. I quickly rush downstairs and out of the building. From the street I can see the balcony. I see special ops trying to beat up my uncle who is dousing the flames. My uncle is old and frail, rage starts to consume me as I witness the injustice. Knowing I will need proof further on, I film it.

I decide to go into the building to confront them. As I walk across the intersection a car rams me. I get up and continue towards the building. Special ops gets out of his car and pulls out his gun. He grabs me and places me in a neck hold. I manage, somehow, to get inside the building. The owner of the restaurant on the first floor is not having it. She pulls out a stick and starts beating the special ops. Her daughter, the Italian’s sister, joins the fray and locks the doors. The special ops is subdued and locked in a wall compartment.

Finally, help arrives. We unlock the door and let him in. After a while I get suspicious and realise he is a baddie undercover. With a shotgun someone on our side gets his head blown off. He turns the shotgun towards me.

I look up. I can see through the floors to where my family is. They hear our screams and cry in pain.

A field of dreams

I walk groggily through a forest. There is lots of fog, however it appears to be inside my eyes rather than outside. I blink repeatedly, it does not clear. I hear a rumbling, a great big Diesel engine, coming my way. It is a tank. An old, WWII tank.

My heart sinks. I’m in a battlezone again. I must be dreaming. My heart rate increases: I know what’s coming. I try to stay calm. All I can now hear is my heart pounding in my chest. My vision starts to acquire a reddish tint as my eyes become bloodshot. I blink and shake my head.

I can see clearly now. All of a sudden the ear plugs are removed from my ears and I can hear the distinctive sounds of battle. I know them only too well, despite never having been on one, never having been a soldier, nor seen war first hand. Yet…those dreams, those eternal, recurring dreams. They are like memories, as vibrant as if I had lived them first hand.

I start moving across the forest. I notice I am not alone. A woman to my right is making hand gestures, trying to give me instructions. To no avail. I do not understand what she means. Not in the slightest. I walk towards her.

“We have to regroup,” I say to her.

“It’s too dangerous,” she replied.

I start breathing heavily, nervousness creeping in.

“I must know who is still with us.” I say in a somewhat commanding tone.

She nods. Another hand gesture. Ten people materialise out of the shadows of the forest.

“Sir, we await your instructions. The enemy has taken up higher ground and is ready to execute the prisoners.” I can’t quite tell who said this, but it sounded real.

“Right, we attack,” I reply, without knowing where I am getting my confidence. I must know something about war if I am in this dream and people are obeying my command. They seem ready to follow me, so I must act on instinct, hoping my subconscious knows what I am doing.

We move forward across what is now the battlefield. We have left the forest behind us. There are broken down buildings and ruins scattered across the landscape. Abandoned cars and dirt roads. It appears I am in Second World War Europe. Why, I have no clue.

The shots start. My heart rate increases. My muscles tense. I can feel myself cramping and curling into a ball in bed. The physical pain is excruciating. I seem to be able to continue to move through the battlefield despite the shots.

Two of my men are injured. Shot. As good as dead. Crying in agony and pain. Their screams fill my eadrums. Dread comes over me. NO! I must react like a soldier, or I, too, will perish.

“The prisoners are in that building over there,” I said, pointing in a very specific direction, to a large building across the war-torn town. I do not know how I know this, I just do.

We move forward, running towards the line of buildings, shooting as we go along. War is raging all around us. The enemies die. We seem to continue without casualties. As I run and shoot, I become more instinctive, it starts to feel natural, like I’ve done this before. In a past life maybe?

The yelling and screaming is incessant. Bombs explode here and there. Orders are shouted. Calls for help and reinforcement are heard. We are making progress. I get shot. Once. Twice. More times than I can count. I still move. I bleed, but not enough to die. It’s a dream. You don’t die that easily in dreams.

We reach the main building, where the prisoners are held. It is my wife and daughters…only, I am not married, but I know in my heart it is my wife. The one I will meet one day.

The warrior wells up inside me. I stretch my shoulders upwards and outwards. I feel invincible. Every shot I make hits its target. I move through the crowd of enemies like a master assassin. I am unstoppable. Until I reach the big baddy. The commander. He shoots me point blank. In the chest. I die. Surely, I must die. It all goes black. But no, it is a dream. I am in control. I think to myself: in your dream you can survive being shot point blank. I open my eyes. I can see again. I am not dead. I go on.

Shot. Again. Die. Again. Excruciating pain. Again. Curl up into a ball in the bed. Again. The lactic acid is pumping through my body. I will myself to live again. I open my eyes inside the dream once more. I am about to reach my family, about to save them. I get shot.

I wake up. Breathing heavily, scared and feeling the aching muscles of the action they have undergone. I turn on the lamp. I look around. It was just a dream. A nasty dream. I try to calm down.

My eyes feel heavy, they want to sleep again. I can’t let that happen. If I sleep I will go to another war zone. I can’t face that anymore. Not again.

I lose the battle and fall asleep…